


Catch and Release

by vellaphoria



Series: Running (and when to stop) [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Dick is oblivious, M/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 08:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11687619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vellaphoria/pseuds/vellaphoria
Summary: Slow nights and sad Robins are never a good combination.





	Catch and Release

Robin botches the landing,  _finally_ losing just enough momentum for Nightwing to close the gap between them. 

He's a little more out of breath than he'd like to admit, but he forces his voice steady.

“You’re going to have to be faster than that, Robin!” Nightwing says, challenging. There is only one way this sort of thing is going to end. Still ... it’s mostly a baseless taunt. He’d had to chase the kid half of the way across Gotham before he made enough of a misstep to get caught.

And Nightwing got confirmation that  _something_  is bothering Robin when he only managed to get from the center of downtown to just across from City Hall before Robin tagged him back. Record time.

But the night is warm, Gotham is unusually quiet, and Nightwing’s heart hurts when he sees depressed little birds trying to hide in the shadows of the city’s architecture.

Slow nights and sad Robins are never a good combination.

The roof they’re on places them just close enough to help if the big guy calls them in for a crisis, but conveniently far enough outside of normal patrol routes to be out of the way; one of those buildings Robin seems to prefer to do this on. All rounds of tag inevitably end in a spar, and the kid has an uncanny ability for finding quiet, shadowed rooftops unlikely to be found by any passing vigilantes.

He gets it; when he was Robin, he didn’t want anyone to see him get his ass handed to him either.

Speaking of which.

He shifts on his feet, arching out of Robin’s reach in a bend Bruce would have had difficulty with. Even though Robin’s finally managed to catch up to him, he isn’t about to make part two _easy_.

Nightwing dodges an uppercut, shifting into a roundhouse aimed for Robin’s head just to see the kid duck and roll. He isn’t quite as flexible as Nightwing, but Robin seems to be improving in leaps and bounds every time these sporadic training sessions come around.

The roll turns into a quick block with his gauntlets – no staff or sticks tonight – to catch a blow that would have locked up at least one muscle group if it connected. It’s a good block, even if Nightwing catches the retaliatory nerve strike before it hits home. He twists and tries to temporarily incapacitate the trapped arm, but Robin uses the movement to free himself and return to a starting stance a few feet away.

After that, it’s just a staring contest to see who acts first.

A flash of movement and…

Robin’s feint is obvious.

What’s less obvious is that when Nightwing dodges the real attack and goes to use the momentum to drop Robin into a hold, the kid clearly  _meant_  for him to do that because the spin and low sweep materialize out of nowhere, knocking him off balance and ending with  _Nightwing_  being the one pinned to the roof.

Green gauntlets press down on his shoulders, the palette match of the tight-clad legs pressed against his hips, trapping him.

Well then.

From his newly acquired position, he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Oracle’s camera is pointed elsewhere. Most of Robin’s favorite sparring spots have the dubious honor of being both outside of normal patrol routes  _and_  just past the range of Oracle’s network.

No blackmail for Barbara, so regardless of who wins, neither of them will have to do her any favors later. Or be laughed out of the Clocktower while a demo reel of their worst screw-ups plays in the background.

Sometimes he forgets that hiding behind the domino is a tricky, scary-smart Timmy. Two steps ahead, even when he loses. Though it might be closer to three steps right now, since Nightwing’s the one on the ground.

Robin is breathing heavily above him, lungs fighting to counteract the rush of adrenaline. His eyes are wide behind the domino, lips infinitesimally parted from harsh breaths or shock. Maybe both, if Robin wasn’t confident that his last move was going to work.

Maybe the kid avoids the cameras because four and a half years in, Robin still approaches these things like he expects to lose, even if he  _has_  been winning more often in recent months.

It’s selfish, but a small part of Nightwing hopes Robin will keep the mindset, if only so the kid keeps giving him these surprised little looks whenever he sees how good he’s getting. Seeing any sort of unfiltered emotion on Tim’s is rare enough, and Nightwing hoards these moments like Batman hoards trophies.

About a minute has passed and Robin hasn’t moved from the pin. The telltale pink tinge of a blush is threatening to overtake the younger vigilante’s face. Nightwing wonders if the kid knows that he shaved a full minute off his record for  _time it takes to catch Nightwing_.

Probably not, considering the looseness in his muscles and the slightly dazed look on his face, despite being the one who  _hasn’t_  had his head slammed into the rooftop. The arms keeping his shoulders down don’t seem to be overly invested in winning this.

Well, lessons learned.

It’s easier than it should be to flip the hold, to twist and unbalance Robin so he lands on his stomach. One green gauntleted arm twisted behind his back, the other held in Nightwing’s vice grip against the tar and gravel roof. His thighs pinned by bodyweight and shock.

Robin isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

There’s a small, high-pitched whine from somewhere beneath him, so quiet that he almost misses it.

“Nightwing…”

“Yeah?” He leans closer, soaking up the faint shiver when he brushes against Robin’s ear. He doesn’t seem inclined to respond, but the game isn’t over until he successfully escapes the pin or Nightwing lets him up.

And Dick has to get his cuddles  _somehow_ , so they both know how this is going to go.

He has Robin in a pretty decent pin, though those dark bags are under the kid’s eyes again. Sleep deprivation would provide a pretty good explanation for why Robin lets his muscles go loose in Nightwing’s hold instead of trying to find an angle for leverage.

Maybe he should bring him to one of the safe houses and make him take a nap…?

Apparently not, since Robin seems to have gotten tired of this, even if he hasn’t found quite the right angle to throw him off. He shifts beneath him, restricted to small movements by the press of Nightwing’s body. “Alright! You win – now let me up.”

And Robin must be  _really_  sleep deprived if he’s giving up before at least ten minutes of mostly futile struggling that Nightwing always tries and fails to not smile at.

He relaxes his hold and lets Robin free himself.

But not without planning the angle so he can scoop him up in a hug before he gets his feet under him. Gotham’s still quiet; they have time.

Robin seems more resigned than anything else when he’s pulled back into Nightwing’s arms, leaning against his chest and cradled between his legs, but it isn’t hard to miss the way the younger vigilante melts a little under the attention.

He’d never really met Tim’s parents outside of the occasional charity gala, but even now that Jack Drake has remarried and taken an apparent (and extremely poorly timed) interest in his son, the third Robin still isn’t on the receiving end of much affection.

That small gasp of surprise when the youngest member of the Flying Graysons gave a four year old boy his first hug (a fact he had wheedled out of a furiously blushing Tim after forcing Batman’s newest protégé into several late night heart to hearts) still echoes in his ears every time the younger vigilante startles at others initiating contact.

It breaks Dick’s heart a little, but the small, almost invisible smile he earns for ambushing Tim with affection never fails to melt the cracks back together.

It’s a work in progress though, and, like any long-term project, it requires consistent effort over a period of time. This game of tag is the first time he’s seen Robin today (the first time he’s seen him in the last few days, actually), and therefore it’s his obligation and prerogative to hug him into submission.

As far as projects go, there isn’t really a long-term goal. Just a general idea that someone should make up for the emotional (physical, mental) neglect of Tim’s early years, and Dick wouldn’t mind so much if it were him.

He thinks, a bit uncharitably, that Bruce would probably just make it worse.

But Dick has turned making up for his mentor’s ( _his own_ ) shortcomings into something of an art form. After Jason… it really isn’t a choice. He won’t lose another Robin to distance and his own insecurities.

But the current Robin is yawning a little instead of trying to escape, and the cloud cover (pollution, smog) is light enough that they can just barely make out a couple of stars. Nothing like what Clark’s shown him out in the middle of Kansas, but it’s an entire galaxy by Gotham’s stargazing standards.

Robin would probably hit him for even thinking the word – like he might jinx their patrol or something – but it feels about as peaceful as this city ever gets. He’s warm and content; they have nowhere to be and are unlikely to be interrupted.

Not that that’d be a  _bad_  thing per se – Batgirl and Spoiler are both completely on board with his Tim-cuddling agenda – but he doesn’t get down from Blüdhaven much these days, and he holds onto times like this (holds on to Tim) a little bit jealously because of it.

That safe house is starting to sound really good right now.

The patrol is almost over anyway. It’s a Friday – not a school night – and Jack Drake is under the impression that his son is spending the night with a friend. Or at least with a friend who doesn’t routinely wear spandex and punch muggers in the face.

Which means there shouldn’t be a problem with dragging Robin through the window of the small apartment on forty-sixth street; it has some of Dick’s spare clothes (a little too big for Tim, but he can deal), an extremely nap-able couch, and a stash of cereal for the morning. Not a bad way to start the weekend.

He tugs Robin closer, fitting his chin to the kid’s shoulder like a puzzle piece.

“Ready to call it a night?” Nothing’s happening out here and Bats has the late shift covered.”

Robin sighs. “I guess I could get started on some homework or something.”

Nightwing bats at his shoulder.

“Aww, Timmy, that’s no fun.” Robin rolls his eyes – the _no names on patrol_  is implied – but Nightwing is unfazed, “Why don’t we hit one of the safe houses? The Cave is all the way across Gotham and I need a nap.” Which is to say, Tim needs to sleep, badly. But pointing that out would send the kid to the nearest coffee machine before Nightwing could stop him.

“It’ll be fun! We can have a sleepover.” Which is apparently the exact  _wrong_  thing to say, because Robin is locking up in his arms, muscles tensing.

Sensing he’s pushed far enough for one night, Nightwing lets his arm fall when the kid stands.

“Sorry, Nightwing. I have some stuff that needs to get done. Not homework! Honest. Just… there’s some paperwork that needs to be finished and B may actually kill me if it doesn’t get done.”

Not one of Robin’s more graceful exits.

The blush seems to have returned full force, its bright pink flush spreading to the edge of the uniform’s collar. A stray thought wonders how far down it goes, but Nightwing crushes it ruthlessly before it can gain any traction.

Sleepover preemptively canceled, Robin turns away from him and walks to the edge of the roof. For a moment, his movements look stiff, but then he’s jumping off the side of the building, the angles of his lines doubtlessly calculated to perfection as he swings across the city and away from his occasional partner against crime.

Somehow, Nightwing thinks he’s missing something important.

(He doesn’t think that six months later he will be wearing the cowl. That Tim will be in Europe, chasing Bruce’s ghost; fueled by anger and desperation, running away from his trauma and everything else in Gotham.

Running away from  _him_.)

But he lets him go.

 


End file.
